Nicolai

I am about to have a full-on tantrum. I realize that's what it is.

When I saw her walk out of her building with this jackass tonight—and dressed like that—it was all I could do to not jump out of my car and beat his ass right there.

But why? I have no right to be jealous. No right to any emotion at all about what she chooses to do with her free time or who she chooses to spend it with.

That he's the one she's chosen to take her out at night while I sit in front of her condo like a borderline creeper should have no effect on me whatsoever.

But now, to see her sitting at dinner with him, in the same goddamn booth...What the fuck? Is this a motherfucking date?

Jebem ti.

I don't know what I'm planning to do when I walk by. Talk to her? Confront him?

Hey dickhead, I know you're involved with some shady shit. What is it? Hard drugs? Illegal weapons? Why don't you just let me take her home and you never talk to her again?

Yeah, that'll work out fabulously for me.

So when she meets my eyes over his shoulder, I just keep fucking walking. Like a damn coward.

I don't even know where I'm going, so I search frantically for the bathroom. Thankfully I'm going in the right direction, so I dip into the hallway, lean against the wall, and close my eyes.

Fuck, Nicolai, what the hell are you doing?

I hear footsteps approaching and as soon as I turn my head to investigate, I come face to face with the girl whose world I've invaded and been dancing around for the last few weeks.

And she is just as beautiful up close as she was on that stage and across Central Park. Actually, if it's possible, she's even more exquisite than just the other day.

Her dark hair is in those waterfall curls that I always loved, the ones that always took her forever to style, but I never minded waiting for because the payoff was so worth it. Her makeup is there, but it's so subtle that all it does is heighten the natural beauty that's there on her bare face from the moment she sleeps to the moment she wakes.

And the purple dress she has on—moj Bože.

They say purple is the color of royalty, but I think God Himself must have spun the silk for this garment. It fits every curve on her body, and the cleavage it gives her is out of this world sexy.

She's stunning.

She's also furious.

"Nicolai Marković. What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses. "Are you following me?"

I lean back against the wall in the stance I was in before and let my eyes travel over every dip and curve on her perfect body until they reach her face.

"It's nice to see you too, Sutton Marie. What a warm welcome for such a long-awaited reunion."

She steps one step closer to me and narrows her eyes. "Cut the shit. What are the odds you'd be here at this random restaurant on the same night as me? When we haven't seen each other in three years?"

I shrug and school my face to go back to the blank, emotionless mask I wear when dealing with the Gospodari.

"I don't know, Sutton, I haven't really worked out the probability. Someone told me to try out this restaurant, and I wanted a steak, so..." I spread my palms and look around. "I'm here. Not really a difficult concept to grasp."

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and my cock twitches in my jeans. God, she could always drive me crazy with that fucking lip.

"Well, it's just a little weird, that's all," she says, and I can tell her confidence in her theory is waning.

"I guess." I wrinkle my nose as I push off the wall, and she takes a couple steps back. "You know what else is weird? Seeing you on a date with Jason Kincaid. I thought he was like your brother or something. That's what you always used to say, isn't it? I guess times really do change."

Saying the words date and Jason Kincaid together in the same sentence to Sutton makes my stomach turn, but I keep up the façade.

Her eyebrows come together. "What are you—"

"I mean, he's a little old for you, don't you think? And what does dear old Dad think of you dating his best mate? Sounds like one of those romance novels you used to love so much." I lean down so we are nearly eye to eye. "I bet you still like them, don't you? You always did like living in your little fantasy world."

I'm being mean. I know I am. But I have to. If I don't, I will pull her into my arms and tell her I'm sorry, beg her to forgive me for leaving her, and confess that I won't be able to breathe another second without her.

She rears her head back and crosses her arms over her chest.

"What if I am dating Jason? What the hell business is it of yours? Please, tell me that. Tell me what say you possibly have over who I date. Not even as a friend. Because while I don't have a lot of experience in the matter, I do know that a real friend doesn't leave with nothing more than a 'fuck you, never contact me again,'" she spits, the venom in her voice lethal, with me her completely deserving victim.

I nod once. "Well, you've just reminded me of one of the reasons I said goodbye to begin with."

The lie burns my tongue and fills my stomach with acid.

Sutton had nothing to do with why I left; in fact, she was what made leaving that place the hardest thing I ever had to do.

Tears fill her emerald eyes and the hurt in them, hurt that I caused and am still causing her right now, reflects back at me with striking clarity, like it was just yesterday that I was forced to leave her behind.

"You know what, Nicolai. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to say this, but I'm glad you left. You were never mean to me before, but now? You're being downright cruel."

I have nothing to say to that, because she's right. I am being cruel. So I keep my mouth shut and turn to leave, but then I hear her say, "Wait."

Turning back to face her, I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Did you—" She shakes her head, as if what she's trying to say is too hard to express, or like she's embarrassed to say it.

"Did I what, Sutton?"

She steps closer and lowers her voice. "Were you at an ambush by Wicked Sins a few weeks ago?"

I look at her blankly, like I have no idea what she's talking about. There's no way I can trust her with this right now. She's still too angry with me, and I don't want her to know too much.

Not when she could run back to Jason and expose me.

"After I played at the club, there were two cars that blocked us in, and this—guy on a motorcycle. He had this flower tattoo..." She trails off, and her face flushes. It's a precious pink that spreads down her neck and over her chest. But I can't let her break me.

I put my hands behind my back and slowly roll down the sleeve of my shirt, concealing the very tattoo Sutton's mentioned. A tattoo she wasn't supposed to see.

When her eyes trail down to my arm, the hairs rise on the back of my neck and I lean closer, blocking her view. A suggestive smirk turns up my lips as I try to distract her. "You're performing at your father's club? Wow, I never thought he'd let you take the stage. I hope the tips are good."

The anger in her eyes is ignited, tattoo immediately forgotten. Her nostrils flare as she clenches her jaw. "Fuck you."

I don't get a chance to walk away from her because she turns on her heel and walks away from me, sashaying her hips, her ass moving from side to side in a tantalizing way that I should not be noticing at a time like this.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I center myself before managing to slip out of the restaurant without being spotted by Jason, even though I'm certain Sutton is at the table telling him all about her encounter with me right now.

I just know I need to get as far away from her as possible before I ruin everything.

***

When I get back to my brownstone, I slam the door so hard, the art on the wall shakes, but I don't give a shit. I'm so pissed, so disgusted, so worried about Sutton that I have no idea what to do next.

After seeing her tonight, it's clear that she doesn't want anything to do with me even if I could protect her from whatever it is that Jason's involved in. And hell, she probably knows about it. She does their books. She was on a date with him.

What if I'm trying to protect her from nothing? And I'm just becoming obsessed over a woman I abandoned three years ago? Someone I could have had all to myself? But I fucked it up.

I grab a beer from the fridge and down half of it in one swallow, my thirst semi-quenched but my nerves not at all settled. My heart is pounding too fast, and my skin feels too tight for my bones, stretched taut like strings on a violin.

Drinking down the rest of the beer, I toss the bottle in the recycling bin and make my way to the bathroom. I need a shower to rinse off this failure of a fucking day. I start the shower, letting the water heat all the way up so that steam is rolling out of the open glass door.

I unbutton my shirt, dropping it to the floor before unzipping my jeans and letting them fall to the tile with my boxers. I lean forward into the mirror, inspecting my face, hating myself for speaking to Sutton the way I did earlier.

With a scoff, I step in and close the door. Standing under the rainfall showerhead in the middle, I adjust those on either side of me so they are spraying on my back and chest. The water hits my tired muscles in just the right way, massaging out all the knots and tension, and as I stand with my head tilted back toward the ceiling, rinsing my hair, my thoughts drift back to Sutton.

What she was wearing tonight was so sexy, so perfectly fit for her that it sent a shiver through me just to think about, even under all this scalding water.

Instead of being so angry, so heinous to her, what I wouldn't have given to glide my fingers over her collarbone and slip them under that little strap and let it fall, exposing what I've never seen, but I know are perfect tits.

All the blood rushes south and I'm suddenly hard. Harder than I've been able to get with Jillian (or any other woman) in months. All from one little image of Sutton Banks with the top of her dress pulled down.

Ridiculous.

I need to feel something. Something other than the rage, anxiety, dread, and regret that's filled me ever since Sutton was ambushed and I was the only thing that stood between her and the man who wanted to hurt her in ways I'd rather not think about.

I need release.

Squeezing a bit of body wash into my palm, I work it into a lather. Sliding my hand down my torso, I take my shaft into my hand and grip it at the base, a groan escaping my lips as I begin to tug up toward the tip. Pre-ejaculate leaks from it, and I thrust my other hand out toward the wall to brace myself. This orgasm has been weeks in the making, and I don't know how long I'm going to last.

Closing my eyes, I picture Sutton again, but this time, the purple dress is gone, replaced with what I imagine was under it—absolutely nothing. I know Sutton, and I know she hates wearing panties if she can help it. And if I had been with her at that table, my fingers would have been knuckle-deep inside her. And if she cried out, I'd swallow those cries with my mouth, kiss her until she came all over my hand.

I wonder if she was wet when she was yelling at me tonight. Does it turn her on to be a little rough?

Fuck, I'm already close.

I keep going, my movements becoming jerkier and less controlled, the sound of my arousal doing nothing but fueling the inferno raging inside me. All I want right now is her here, on her back. Not on her knees.

I don't deserve for her to worship me. Not yet.

I want to kneel in front of her, throw her legs over my shoulders, and dive in...devour her. Taste every single drop of her...

And then, I snap.

"Sutton," I breathe, coming harder than I have in months, maybe years.

Resting my head on my bicep, I take a deep breath before standing straight.

Goddamn, I have to get this girl out of my head.